Chapter 4 - The Ambush at the Penthouse
At 6:30 PM on Monday evening, Nathan and I were sitting in the living room of our seaport penthouse, reviewing the forensic accounting files Arthur had couriered over.
Nathan’s jaw was clenched so hard the muscles in his cheek were twitching. He had laid out Mia’s fake company receipts across the coffee table: *Seventy-two thousand dollars for a private yacht party in Cannes.* *Twenty-eight thousand dollars for VIP tables at Coachella.* *Fourteen thousand dollars for an 'aesthetic brand consultant.'*
"She didn't start a company," Nathan said, tossing a receipt back onto the glass table with disgust. "She started an open fire and threw your father’s life into it."
Before I could answer, the security intercom on our kitchen wall buzzed.
Three sharp, violent bursts.
I walked over and pressed the button. "Yes?"
The doorman’s voice sounded rattled. "Mrs. Ward, I’m so sorry to disturb you, but your mother and sister are in the lobby. They pushed past the desk. They're already in the elevator heading to the nineteenth floor."
"Did you give them a keycard, Marcus?" I asked calmly.
"No, ma'am! Mia took the master keycard from the service desk while your mother was shouting at me. I've called building security—"
"Don't call the police yet, Marcus," I said smoothly. "Let them up."
"Liv," Nathan warned, standing up from the sofa. "You don't need this circus in our home."
"Yes, I do," I said, walking to the foyer. "A theater only works when the audience is in their seats."
A second later, the heavy oak double doors of our penthouse shuddered under a barrage of furious pounding.
*BANG! BANG! BANG!*
"Olivia! Open this door right now!" Eleanor’s voice shrieked through the wood. "Open this door or I will have the police break it down!"
I didn't rush. I smoothed down my silk blouse, walked to the door, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled it wide open.
Eleanor and Mia stood in the hallway, looking like two shipwreck survivors who had raided a Nordstrom Rack.
Eleanor’s hair was unbrushed, her cardigan buttoned crookedly, her eyes rimmed in red. Mia was wearing yoga pants, an oversized sweater, and no makeup, her face pale, blotchy, and furious.
"How dare you!" Eleanor lunged forward, trying to push past me into the foyer.
Nathan stepped directly into the doorway. At six-foot-two, with broad shoulders and an unmoving frame, he blocked the entry like an iron gate. Eleanor rebounded off his chest, gasping in outrage.
"Get out of my way, Nathan!" Eleanor snapped. "This is a family matter! Olivia, you tell your husband to move his hands before I have him sued for assault!"
"You're trespassing, Eleanor," Nathan said, his voice flat, low, and terrifyingly cold. "You have sixty seconds to state your business before I physically carry you back to the elevator."
"I am her mother!" Eleanor screamed.
Mia shoved herself forward, pointing a shaking, manicured finger at my face. "You psychopath! My car was towed this morning! A flatbed pulled up to my building in front of all my neighbors and dragged my Porsche away! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?! My building manager threatened to evict me because my rent check bounced! Who the hell do you think you are?!"
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, looking at Mia with pure, clinical detachment.
"I am the trustee," I said. "And you are an unemployed dependent whose allowance has expired."
"You did this because of a stupid cake?!" Mia shrieked, her voice hitting that hysterical, glass-shattering register she had used since childhood whenever she didn't get her way. "It was just a cake, Olivia! It was an accident! I was having an emotional breakdown because you didn't support me, and you ruin my life over sugar and flour?!"
"It wasn't an accident," Nathan cut in, his eyes blazing. "You swung that champagne bottle with intent. You laughed while your mother rubbed your back. You ruined my wife’s dress, you ruined our wedding, and you thought you could walk away and let her pay your bills the next morning."
"She’s my sister!" Mia yelled, looking at Eleanor for backup. "Tell him, Mom! Tell her she has to fix this!"
Eleanor stepped back, drew herself up, and attempted to put on her matriarchal face—the haughty, imperious sneer she used when firing housekeepers.
"Olivia," Eleanor said, dropping her voice to an icy, commanding tone. "Stop this foolishness immediately. You will transfer fifty thousand dollars into my account tonight to settle the Four Seasons bill and Mia’s immediate expenses. Tomorrow morning, you will go to Arthur’s office and execute the release of the trust capital. We are done playing games with Richard’s money."
I smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. It was the smile a surgeon gives right before making the first incision.
"Richard’s money?" I asked quietly. "You mean the money you stole?"
Eleanor froze. The imperious mask cracked. "What... what did you say?"
I reached behind me onto the console table, picked up the blue folder Arthur had given me, and slapped it against Eleanor’s chest.
She caught it instinctively.
"Page four," I said. "Apex Crest Holdings. A four-million-dollar mezzanine loan secured by a forged resolution with my name on it."
Mia glanced at Eleanor, her eyes darting nervously. "Mom... what is she talking about?"
"Shut up, Mia!" Eleanor hissed, her hands shaking as she looked down at the documents.
"You forged my signature, Eleanor," I said, stepping closer until I was inches from her face. "You committed federal bank fraud. You put Dad’s childhood home—the house his grandfather built—up as collateral so Mia could play CEO in Cannes with a bunch of third-rate models."
"I... I invested in your sister’s future!" Eleanor stuttered, her voice suddenly losing all its volume, cracking at the edges. "Richard would have wanted—"
"Richard knew exactly what you were," I interrupted, cutting her down like a blade. "That’s why he made me the trustee. He knew you were reckless, vain, and greedy. But he didn't know you were a criminal."
Mia stepped back, her bravado completely evaporating. "Liv... please. It was just a loan. The company was going to take off—"
"The balloon payment is due in six weeks," I said, staring directly into Mia’s terrified eyes. "Four point two million dollars. If it's not paid, Apex Crest seizes the Beacon Hill house. And Arthur was kind enough to inform me that unless I personally take the blame or sign a settlement agreement, the U.S. Attorney’s office will be receiving a criminal referral for identity theft and wire fraud."
Eleanor’s knees gave out. She grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling.
"Olivia..." Eleanor gasped, tears finally spilling over her mascara, not the fake tears of victimhood she had cried at my wedding, but the raw, cold terror of an aging woman staring into the iron bars of a federal penitentiary. "You wouldn't... you wouldn't send your own mother to prison. You’re my daughter."
I looked at the woman who had watched my sister destroy my wedding dress and told me to apologize.
"You stopped being my mother the moment you forged my name to rob my father's grave," I said.
I looked at Nathan.
"Close the door."
Nathan pulled the heavy oak door shut. The deadbolt slid home with a solid, echoing *thunk*.
From the other side of the door, Eleanor’s frantic, desperate pounding began anew, accompanied by Mia’s muffled, hysterical sobs.
I didn't look back. I walked into the kitchen, picked up my phone, and dialed Arthur Vance-Cromwell.
May you like
"Arthur," I said into the receiver. "Draft the eviction notice for Beacon Hill. We move forward."
***
